I find it funny how fast I can shatter my own dreams.  And how quickly I can move on.  I need to stick with what I know.  Writing.  A part of me is really aching to get back to writing on Seven Isaacs.  It’s been almost a year since I last spent some serious time working on it. 

Like Ashio, the characters in Seven Isaacs are so crystallized in my brain.  I see the children as they struggle to find their way into a greater world.  I can’t and won’t go into detail.  Not here.  Not now.  Hell, I’m only seven chapters in.

It’s going to be my life’s work.  It’s not something I can just sit down and write.  Every man’s stab at the Great American Novel is a time consuming beast.  And to make sure I do it the right way and have my one Catcher in the Rye.  To hit and to never hit again, I have to make it just so.

It’s going to be a big book.  Possibly a saga.  And I think maybe it’s going to bounce around in time, kinda Pulp Fiction style.  What better way to fuck with the reader?  Liner.  Non-linear.  I’m not sure yet.  Maybe that’s the editor’s job.  If I do my job right, there won’t be any questions.  Just a pure biting look at human nature along with nature vs. nurture vs. science and exploration.

I kow it all sounds confusing.  but when you look at it from where I’m standing, it will all make perfect sense.  Especially after you’ve read it.  Which I said… could be a while.  This is my life’s work.  I’m two years in and have seven chapters done.  It’s stream of consciousness writing and I’ve learned I can’t force it.  I wrote myself into a corner at the end of the chapter and have flailed blindly for almost a year now trying to figure out how to get back out of that corner without leaving little painty footprints all over the rest of the house.

It’s a dilemma.  I’m not sure I have the answer yet.  Actually, I know I don’t.  But, I can feel the characters creeping back into the forefront of my focus, which means, they are ready to come out and play again.  And if the kids are almost ready to come out and play, then I am as well.

As for the novel itself.  I have the ending.  It’s big and dark and I pulled it from a dream.  It’s filled with white blinding light and failure and loss.

I suppose that’s probably while this will never end up being a movie.

…which was why I wrote it as a novel to begin with.

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